Play Again?
by heisaspider
Summary: Sherlock's life gives a turn when his formal enemy returns from the dead in an amazing timing, just when he is forced to leave behind everything he cares about. Nobody messes with Sherlock Holmes other than James Moriarty.
1. Chapter 1

**_"It's raining…"_**

* * *

"Oh for God's sake make up your mind, I've only been gone for four minutes" cried Sherlock on the phone

"Well little brother I certainly hope you've learnt your lesson. You are needed." answered Mycroft

"_Who_ needs me?"

Mycroft exclaimed reluctant. "England."

There was a pause, Sherlock exhaled annoyed. He hated when his brother played mysterious.

"Could you _please_ be more specific?"

"You are going to need to see it for yourself"

Several minutes passed which seemed like an eternity until the plane landed right from where it took off a moment before. When the detective looked at Mary and John through the window and to everything that he was leaving behind, he really had thought that he was looking at it all for the last time.

The gates opened and he rushed down the plane's stairs. His brother had planted in him an unpleasant feeling of anxiety that wasn't going to leave until he saw what the fuss was all about.

John, Mary and Mycroft were all gathered near the car with worried expressions. Sherlock run through past them brusquely.

"Sherlock, do you know anything about this? How can this be possible? He _has_ to be dead" said John trying to believe his own words.

"Take a peek over there" Mycroft pointed out to the car's dashboard where a tiny screen kept going crazy.

Sherlock did so, he leaned out to see and… no.

_"Miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?" _the screen kept repeating.

"Moriarty." Sherlock muttered almost breathless.

* * *

Sherlock was quiet all the ride to 221B. He had left John and Mary but not before having to listen to all of his best friend's questions and worries about the master criminal sudden return. When he finally arrived, he run into a surprised and upset Mrs. Hudson.

"Sherlock! Oh dear thank God you're here again. He… that… man appeared on the…" Sherlock didn't really have time for this so he interrupted her.

"It's good to see you too" he replied sarcastically "and yes that's obviously why I'm here and if you don't mind" he pushed her out of the way to get as far as he could to his flat so he would be able to think about all this.

As soon as he opened the door he felt a renewed feeling of safety and comfort. Everything was slightly dark to be daytime, the curtains were half closed, it started raining. It didn't matter though, it was better like that. He needed to think about all the stuff that had happened in the last hours. All England had listened to and seen the face of his biggest enemy. James Moriarty. Without apparent reason, he just simply returned from the dead, just as he did honestly. -Only managing to be even more dramatic.-

Was there anything he'd been sure these past two years was that Moriarty had died, he had killed himself right in front of him. And yet there he was, seemingly alive.

Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth.

"I was _just _checking out your room."

Sherlock jumped on his place and turned to look to the kitchen.

"The _love nest_ I believe they're calling it now right?" the dark voice chuckled "don't worry I _know_ nothing happened there."

The familiar body walked slowly towards the detective who was more startled than what he let his face show.

"Oh c'mon Sherlock. Not even a small welcome? A hug maybe? No? Uhm, pity…" the criminal stopped a few inches from the taller one. "Did you miss me? "


	2. Chapter 2

**"Miss me?"**

* * *

The fact that the master criminal could break into his house any time he wanted was not a surprise for him. Yet he didn't expect to encounter him this soon. He wanted to put his thoughts in order but it seemed like nobody would help him with that today, not even Moriarty.

_"Did you miss me?"_

Sherlock wouldn't admit it but since he defeated his enemy –at least he thought he did-, his loss had left a strange feeling in him. A feeling he wasn't able to fully recognize. He wasn't mourning for him of course…or was he?. That was ridiculous. Jim asked a simple question.

"I don't like people entering to my room" dismissing the question, not a really good sign, but he needed to change the topic. "but then _again_ I suppose you're not like most people"

Jim was serious now.

"And I don't like people dismantling my beautiful criminal network" Jim replied with a dry voice. "but you… you earned that right" he let out a little prideful smirk.

Sherlock was silent now and after a moment the other continued.

"Of course, slipping away the fact that you didn't. You _did_ a good job these past two years. A complete one? No." Jim's tone was a mocking one. "Still I gave up a lot of it. For you. My dear"

Sherlock could not deny that he was impressed, amazed, his heart beating like it always did near him. Nobody, absolutely anybody in this world could challenge Sherlock the way Jim did. He didn't hate him. He never did, John loathed him, as well as Mycroft and the rest of the world, but not him.

Sherlock noticed the familiar flirtatious tone he was using, he never took it seriously –not because he didn't want to- but the facts were the facts and those were that Moriarty had risked lives, spent stupid amounts of money, suffered torture, and now, sacrificed a big part of his brilliant planned network just to talk to him or to get his attention. He always assumed he was just obsessed. But what if he was seeing it all the wrong way?

"Oh please tell your brain to shut up. It's getting annoying." Jim shook his head in a bored manner.

"Did you figure it out Sherlock? Do know how I did it? I _did_ give you time…"

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, Jim always did this, he _loved_ to see him dance. Finding the words he continued.

"A blood-bag of course, and I presume the sound came from the shot of a sniper of yours." He let out the words in a mechanical way.

The criminal nodded clearly amused.

"Do you know how _I_ did it? "

"Oh Sherlock I knew it moments before I shot myself in the mouth" with this a flash of that moment came like a thunder into Sherlock's head and he winced internally trying not to show it. "I saw it all in your eyes. Airbag, everything was perfectly controlled. But honey you can't forget that a spider has many eyes after all"

"And you let me go on with that. You let me dismantle all of your…" Jim made an expression at the word. _"a part of_ your network. Just to prove a point."

"That I can go as far as you sweetie. Maybe even more."

The detective was contemplating all his words when the other one spoke again.

"By the way, my apologies for making such an entrance to the world of the living." He was using a mocking tone again. "But you have to understand that these were desperate times… I thought it was needed considering you were leaving." His eyes moved innocently like a little boy when trying to convince somebody he didn't do anything wrong.

"I should thank you for that I suppose"

"Maybe it's too soon for_ that_, I'll let you to contemplate it for later"

They never moved away from each other, always maintaining eye contact.

A moment of deep silence took over the living room, and then Sherlock saw Jim's hand leaning as to shake his.

The detective took it slowly remembering the last time he felt it and how bad it ended. Wait, bad? No he had won. What was happening to him?

"Welcome back". Sherlock said graciously.

Jim's hand was tight on his and even reached to his wrist almost possessively, which seemed odd. He smiled back almost nicely and his gaze left a glimpse of gratification. This expression replaced the detective's feeling of adrenaline for one of warmth. Both were good but in very different ways.

After a minute the criminal let go his hand and slowly paced to the door of the flat. When he reached it he spoke in an almost hushed tone.

"We'll meet again soon, Sherlock" he wasn't looking at him anymore, he was gazing where their hands had been a moment ago, trying to get hold of the feeling it had left in him. This wasn't right. He was losing control over a stupid thing.

Before leaving the flat he turned around and with a pleased tone he added

"Oh and by the way, _you did miss me_." Sherlock lifted his gaze to meet Jim's now, surprised. "I took your pulse"

Oh. James Moriarty never left questions unanswered.

And with the most playful smirk he left, leaving behind a baffled and exposed Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

**Notes: That theory of Moriarty has been going around amongst the fandom, it wasn't an idea of mine, I read it a long time ago so whoever wrote it, bless you~**


	3. Chapter 3

It was a cloudy day. No, in fact it was _that_ cloudy day, that day two years ago. Jim was in front of him, shaking his hand. It was happening again, he knew what the criminal was about to do this time but he couldn't move, he couldn't stop him from killing himself. It was like he was forced to live that moment again but without being able to change a thing.

"NO!" he shouted watching the body of the other man fall dead to the floor.

Everything was blurry.

Now he was at the edge of the building preparing to fall. Only this time he _really_ was going to fall, to die.

He then felt a touch on his back and he turned around. Jim was there, alive. Again.

Sherlock stepped out of the edge when Jim stretched out his hand to him and when they were face to face he leaned in closer to the taller one and murmured in his ear:

"I don´t want you dead"

He felt a shiver so strong that it traveled through all his body and woke him up.

When he opened his eyes the feeling was still there. So vivid it felt awfully real.

He sleepily gazed over the bedroom to prove that he was in fact alone.

Groaning and sulking he got up of bed. It was more of an instinctive action, there were no reasons for him to get up, what he really wanted was to wash away the images of that dream out of his head before he could process them all.

Dragging his feet he went to the bathroom and got himself into a more than enough hot shower. He closed his eyes when the water had soaked and dropped his hair on his forehead, supporting himself with his arms on the walls, like he needed to hold himself from falling to the floor. These last five days since the encounter with Jim had brought with them new feelings to him, he was feeling extremely vulnerable.

The glory that had been beating the criminal two years ago never existed, it was a failure, a fraud, Sherlock tried to hold onto that last line of thought because it was rather much preferable than the other one that invaded not only his mind, but also his heart. He had missed him, needed him. Hiding this from himself was harder every time and now even Jim knew.

Ten minutes had passed when he realized he had not moved an inch from where he was. He closed the shower rapidly, got dried, got dressed and got out of the bathroom, emotionless-faced, even though nobody was there to see him. At least he had to try.

* * *

The last two years Jim could have escaped from London, he had done it all there, he should be bored by now. He _didn't_ though, he remained there even though his entire essence cried to him to leave. Because it really was supposed to be boring by now. Right?

Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock was the reason for everything in his life. Nothing could ever change that. Sherlock was his true greatest weakness. The only man who could understand him, who could get a lot close to beating him.

Never in his life had he felt this about somebody. He hated it. He hated him. Or at least he insisted on thinking that. But deep down he knew that such a strong emotion as love was possible for him after all.

He wanted to destroy him, to kill him for making him feel this way. But he was utterly sure he could not live in a world without Sherlock Holmes.

Jim was in his house –a rather regular house not a mansion like he wanted, but he couldn't afford to seek so much attention after his appearance-, standing heavy breathing. Big part of his bedroom was upside down, a broken mirror, a lot of his things on the floor and even his expensive clothes.

Thinking about Sherlock had this effect on him. Violence, occasional self-harming.

He wanted to hate him.

Life was so much easier before the consulting detective.

* * *

**Notes: Sorry it's a very short chapter, I've been a little stuck with the plot, but now I'm back in the business :3**


	4. Chapter 4

A week had passed after their encounter, and Sherlock had been expecting something to happen at any time.  
After Magnussen –and of course Moriarty- nothing interesting had happened, London was being very quiet, very calm. There were of course cases, but tedious ones.

Boredom took him to St. Barts. He was very focused on a sample on the microscope when the door of the lab opened.

He looked up a second, knowing of course who it was, but he wanted to know if he was to be interrupted beforehand.

Molly's usual shy expression wasn't there now, she looked rather uncomfortable and worried.

She walked towards him and didn't wait for him to pay attention before she started speaking.

"So, how's everything doing?" she was trying to awkwardly start a conversation but he really knew where this was going.

"Splendid, how is singleness suiting you?" it was more of a rhetorical question, he wanted to irritate her a little.

She didn't really seem bothered.

"Good, yeah, great. Uhm, Sherlock…"

Sherlock cut her off "You want to know if I've got any news on Jim" he barely realized he had used his first name, but he did because of Molly's mildly surprise expression.

He rapidly continued. "Sorry to disappoint you, but no. There's no clue of him yet" Sherlock hoped his own disappointment wasn't so noticeable.

"Well then I'm glad." She was about to leave but then she continued. "I just don't understand, I mean I know you explained to me how he did it but still. What is he looking for?"

"Me" Sherlock replied calm

"You. Yes, but what does he want from you?"

Sherlock didn't reply to that. There was really not an answer yet. She then added

"Sherlock… I know this isn't exactly…"she was looking for the words. "_terrible_ for you and that you're somehow thrilled by this, by him. But this is not a game, he is deadly dangerous"

The detective then stood up and grabbed his coat.

"Oh but molly I _know_ that"

With a sympathetic smile he walked past her and left the lab. Somehow her speech encouraged him to meet the criminal again, although he knew Moriarty had to make the first move.

* * *

When Sherlock got to 221B he was still thrilled by Molly's words. He was obviously losing control, the anxious feeling that had been chasing him the last seven days wouldn't go away. He needed a case immediately.

The life since he came back to Baker St. was different, so different, not the way he had remembered it. John was not there anymore, and getting used to it wasn't as easy as he had thought it would be.

His friend was always texting him though, making up for the fact of leaving him.

This new feeling of loneliness that took hold of him was placed away by the constants thoughts of Moriarty. He was drowning on that man and he couldn't control it.

As he was pacing the room a little too uneasily, he felt his phone vibrate.

He sighed before taking it out of his pocket, it must be John trying to check on him again, he had to admit it was becoming rather tedious by now.

It wasn't him. A private number.

_ "Don't be bored dear. Wanna play?-Jim x"_

He texted back almost immediately with his lips curving into a tiny smile that he didn't even know was there.

_"What I want is a case-SH"_

Twenty seconds passed till the next message

_"And that's what you will get. I'm sending you a pic of the place, you figure out the rest.-Jim x"_

Sherlock received it and started to work it all out. He finished it the same night when he got to the place.

A woman was shot dead and the police had already assumed it to be robbery gone wrong but it was obviously disguised murder, she was a significant drug dealer.

Jim entertained Sherlock with cases for the following two weeks. John joined in to some of them but in fact Sherlock wanted to do this all by himself, this was between Moriarty and him, and of course the unfortunate victims that lead them together.

One night Sherlock was sitting on his couch with his mind in blank and his eyes shut. When he felt the familiar vibrating sound on the table. He opened his eyes hoping it was Jim. They had been texting occasionally, Jim providing Sherlock cases and meanwhile flirting whenever he could, but they never talked about anything else nor saw each other again.

_"Do you remember where we officially first met?-Jim x"_

What kind of question was that? How could he not remember that? He first saw him in St. Bart's… although he _officially_ met _Moriarty_ in the pool.

_"Yes, of course-SH"_

_"See you there in ten. Jim x"_

Sherlock's heart started beating uncontrollably he didn't give it so much a thought, he stood up, took off his dressing gown and got dressed as fast as he could.

In about twelve minutes he was entering the meeting point.

It was as he remembered it. Slightly dark, because it was technically closed, and that usual chlorine smell.

"Hope I'm not too late" he announced in part cynically.

Nobody answered. He started to panic. What if Jim had meant St. Bart's?

Just when he couldn't feel more stupid he got a reply.

"Don't worry, this was the right place" the familiar voice said, going out from the same place he had, several years ago.

Sherlock felt so exposed to him, the man could read his mind better than anyone else.

They both started to walk towards the other slowly.

"So, what's the occasion?" the detective asked.

The other shrugged trying not to look so interested.

"None, I was just bored. Did you like our cases?"

"They kept me entertained enough"

"Marvelous. Your life was being so boring that I decided to intervene a little"

"Thank you" they were getting closer now, and Sherlock could see him better. He looked… strange. Tired, and worn-out. Of course he was stunningly dressed and combed as usual. But he seemed weaker and miserable.

They stopped walking when they were close enough, face to face.

In that moment his phone vibrated loudly. It was obviously John.

He noticed the hint of hatred in Jim's face because he also knew who it was. He rapidly changed it into a more amused one.

"The pet can't leave you alone, eh? Thought that married life would make him less dependent but I was wrong" he paused for a moment and stared into his eyes in that hypnotizing way of his, and then he added. "I understand him though. It _is_ hard to leave you."

Sherlock stared back for what seemed like an eternity. He didn't really know what to say. He just wanted to be there, he couldn't even bring himself to be bothered by Jim calling John his _pet. _That precise moment is what he had been waiting for, for so long.

"You're tired" he finally said

"On a couple of levels, yes" he replied instantly, not thinking. "So tell me how is death Sherlock? You've experienced it enough for a lifetime" he added mockingly.

Jim would never admit it but he had been arranging something special for Mrs. Mary Morstan, he then changed his mind after Sherlock killed a man just so she could live, killing her would have destroyed him and it was too soon for that yet.

"I guess it's worth mentioning that you helped"

"Oh, how so?"

This was embarrassing.

"You, uhm, I recurred to you in my… my last minutes. Actually it was mostly for John in that moment, but it was you… who uhm made me come back" he was speaking too fast and he regretted mentioning this as soon as it came out of his mouth.

Jim flinched at the mention of his friend, but then ignored it and smiled weakly.

"I see, I'm flattered. So I'm in your mind palace… I imagine you don't let me around very often"

Jim felt really tempted with Sherlock's confession to let out his own, or at least a part of it. To let him know Sherlock lives in his mind too, and how he waited for him to come back.

"Well, you're not a very supportive figure on my mind"

"And yet here you are, breathing and everything"

Sherlock didn't know what the real motive of this meeting was but he didn't care either.

Jim walked closer to Sherlock but he didn't back out, he didn't want to. The shorter one kept his gaze even more intense than before, and he didn't seem dangerous anymore, he didn't seem Moriarty, it was Jim.

It looked like he wanted to be dragged into Sherlock's blue eyes, it looked as if he wanted to own him, he looked so helpless that it was overwhelming to see.

Jim slowly fixed his eyes on Sherlock's lips and continued with a dry voice.

"And how was life without _me_?"

It was too much they were so close they could feel each other's breathings.

The taller one replied with an even drier voice.

"Unbelievably boring"

Sherlock didn't know what he was doing but he came closer to Jim. Nothing made sense at all, he wasn't intending to kiss his most lethal enemy, was he?

Well apparently he was, and the criminal seemed to be completely okay with it.

When they were impossibly close something interrupted them. His phone was vibrating once again and he wasn't sure whether to be grateful for stopping him to do something rather ridiculous or to regret ever befriending John.

Jim was in the same state of mind as him, but Sherlock suspected he'd had rather murdered his friend.

In anyways, Jim came back to being Moriarty again. He looked away, straightened his perfectly straight clothes and broke the silence by bitterly adding "You better check on your pet, don't want him thinking you're under bad influences, do you?"

And with that he walked away, not saying goodbye, he just left. And so did Sherlock a moment later.

The cold air of the night was really appreciated, considering he felt all the air leave his lungs a few moments before.

He finally checked his phone. It was indeed John, asking pointless things.

_"Sherlock, any interesting cases?-JW"_

_"Why aren't you answering? What are you doing?-JW"_

He didn't feel like replying, besides, did John really want to know what he had been doing? Absolutely not.

He decided he wanted to walk home this time. Maybe the cold air could take away all the bizarre events of the night.


	5. Chapter 5

The arrival to Baker Street was tough. As soon as he got home he let himself fall onto the couch, the memories of the night wouldn't go away, though he didn't want them to. It was all so confusing.

He didn't realize he hadn't slept until he saw the light of the day pass through his window. He had sat in his chair and remained that way all night, just thinking about that impossible other-self.

He had stayed up awake at night millions of times in his life. But usually the things invading his mind palace were interesting crimes. Not interesting, smart and handsome criminals.

No matter the amount of time he thought about it, he couldn't come to a conclusion of the past night, and not knowing or understanding something wasn't his area of expertise. Basically, he was pissed.

God. He didn't even change his clothes. Less take a shower. This was bordering the pathetic.

Sherlock was standing up, when he heard the unmistakable steps of the doctor walking up the stairs. He was definitely _not_ in the mood to be babysitted right now.

When John entered, Sherlock could perceive a hint of concern on his face John was observing the living room in search of the detective and when he found him that uneasy expression was replaced with a calmer one.

"Sherlock? Oh I was just passing by and…" he tried to pretend coolness and added "did you get my messages?"

"Well yes, why wouldn't I?"

"Yeah okay. But I mean, why didn't you text back? I was worried"

"I can see that, and I also can see that you were hoping I was on an interesting and dangerous case you could step in. Desperation doesn't suit you well John"

The doctor made a barely offended face, not even trying to look surprised at his friend's deductions, he knew better than to argue.

"You always text back. _Were _you onto something?"

"Well, you could say so" the detective let out a tiny amused grin.

John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion expecting an explanation but when he got none he added in exasperation. "Could youelaborate please?"

Sherlock considered lying for a moment, but before he could come up with a perfect story he heard himself saying "Jim Moriarty"

The detective had vaguely mentioned to the doctor their encounter in 221 B three weeks ago, but what could he say about this last one?

The evident tension between the two?

The fact that if it weren't for him they would have probably snogged by the side of a swimming pool in which curiously, Jim had planted bombs on him a few years before?

The fact that he really had wanted to kiss the criminal?

No, not a good idea.

John mouthed something incomprehensible before speaking again.

"Moriarty? Again? Where? Did he come here?"

"We met last night. Swimming pool. Nothing of consideration happened"

That was a funny thing to say, considering no other meeting with the man had left him so puzzled.

"Oh, sweet" the doctor fixed his eyes on the detective standing in front of him, paying close attention to his outfit.

"You didn't change clothes, did you?"

"Excellent observation, too bad you don't do those very often"

"Stop that. Whatever it is he said, he is playing with your mind you know that, right?" The doctor added taking note of the restless semblance of his best friend.

Playing with his mind… The detective had decided that the criminal wasn't faking anything, that slip they had the night before, had been an honest error on his well calculated façade –that he hoped would fail again sometime in the future-

After several more tedious questions from the doctor, he was left alone in his flat, finally able to take a desperately needed shower.

Later in the night he was laying in his bed fidgeting with his phone, the need to hear anything from Jim was overwhelming now. And before he could think it was a bad decision, he texted him.

"_Bored-SH"_

Seemed like a good enough conversation starter. A few seconds passed before receiving a reply.

"_Are you ever not?-JM"_

Of course, he thought, when was Sherlock bored in the presence of Jim Moriarty? Never. He wasn't gonna mention it though.

When he was deciding whether to reply or not, another message came in.

"_I can't imagine what you would do without me then. I do spend a great time trying to entertain you-JM"_

"_To be honest, me neither. I suppose retiring would be of consideration-SH"_

Trying to picture life without the criminal was horrifying. Considering most part of his work was possible thanks to him.

"_Stop, you'll make me blush-JM"_

"_I presume we're not talking about yesterday-SH"_

"_Is there anything to talk about?-JM"_

Sherlock's head was spinning. Was there anything to talk about? He had millions of things to talk about the day before. But evidently nothing the other consulting was willing to share.

"_Probably not-SH"_

"_Liked it better when you used your name-SH"_

"_May I ask for the same?-Jim"_

"_You may-Sherlock"_

It became difficult for Jim not to smile at the text he just got from a certain detective. In fact everything in his life was becoming very difficult because of him.

He didn't want to talk about the night before. He made a stupid mistake –a mistake he knew for a fact would make again as soon as he got the chance-

He was losing himself and he couldn't care less. He'd waited so long for this, for Sherlock. He didn't really know he did, the detective had become an obsession to him of course, but he wasn't happy about it, it was painful most of the time and others he just had fun with it.

But now, this was different, he didn't want to hurt him anymore, to burn him.

That was such an uncomfortable feeling for him. Craving for the only person in the world who has the power to destroy you.

How could this ever work?


End file.
